Resound
by Rival Argentica
Summary: "Everything that makes me whole belongs to you forever more." Jonah-centric.


**I am baaack! And with a new ficlet. There is a music prompt for this story. At the signal of an asterisk** (*) **, please play the lyric video of** My Dearest, Guilty Crown **by** Supercell **from YouTube, a post by Rainbow StarsA. Click on the one with the 5-minute duration; that's the full song. Playing it would enrich your reading experience as it had my writing. :)**

Disclaimer **: You know the drill. Characters—not mine. Plot and poem below—mine.**

* * *

loud.  
louder.  
…and louder still.

to chase them away,  
and for wounds to heal.

drown out the noise,  
for my music to steal.

the fire of my voice  
may lose its zeal,

…but I will resound.

* * *

Resound

 _written to set the Janus in me free._

* * *

He could hear their love resounding throughout the auditorium from the darkness of the backstage, and they cheered onto his name with all the power and volume their voices could carry, the vibrations echoing in the vast resonant chamber. He peeked his head out of the curtains, and, although the lights were already out, he could see their eyes glimmering with such a burning excitement that amalgamated with the disparate, harmonic motley of voices that was such a magnificent music to his ears that even _he_ had to be breath-taken of. The music he made for them was never enough if he compared it to all the love that they paid him back with a fervency that just rendered him speechless every time.

" _We love you, Jonah Wizard!"_ a group of girls squealed, (one of them even fainted, a couple or three bursting in passionate tears), when they caught him staring at them from the backstage.

He smiled at them, the warmth of their ardour and devotion touching his heart that swelled of euphoria. It spread throughout his whole body in an ephemeral moment of… _happiness_. It wasn't just the girls—it was… _all_ of them. They never failed to comfort him in times of his distress; they were the warm rays of the sun shining through the gaps of the approaching heavy clouds that always threatened him of rain. But to him, their threats of tempestuous storms didn't matter whenever he felt the soft and warm beam of his fans' love and light blanketing his skin. He let himself get lost into his own little world at the sight of them, cheering for none other than him. But he was suddenly yanked into the real world when a voice suddenly sounded from behind him.

"You don't have to do this."

 _She scoffs. 'Because you can't.'_

He closed his eyes to block out the bitter words. He clenched his fists. No. His resolve was firm—there was no way he was going to listen to any other's voice, only _theirs_.

"I have to, Dad."

He was going to do this. For them.

"But son, _please_." His father's voice was sodden of desperate concern, as it had been days before until now. He felt a hand gently but firmly land onto his shoulder, and was therefore forced to open his eyes to look at those brown eyes that were so much identical to his own. A silence was exchanged between father and son, and, in that one fleeting moment, the faint shouts and cheers of the audience heard from the backstage rang out, fading into non-existent silence. No more words were needed to be exchanged between—the flare in his father's eyes was enough of a message.

 _You need to rest._

He almost gave in at his father's wordless plea. His muscles suddenly felt like they were so heavy that he didn't have the power to move, all the adrenaline that he had forced out of himself slowly starting to draw back. A feeling of fatigue, of overwhelming exhaustion, slowly washed over him to engulf him in a bursting desire of landing his whole body in the plushness of soft pillows and warm quilts, a luxury he could have anytime. His eyelids felt like lead that were so heavy that he almost closed them, he _almost_ blacked out, right then and there.

But her sardonic voice laughed at him, as if at his pathetic faintheartedness.

' _I told you, you can't.'_

He suddenly snapped his eyes open, catching himself in the middle of closing them. He scolded himself. No. No rest. Rest meant silence, and he _strictly_ allowed himself no silence. He didn't _like_ silence. All silence ever did to him was bring back to life the corpses of those relentless voices inside his head that needn't be heard, that he didn't _want_ to hear, but persisted on echoing out in his skull like a gong to remind him again and again of how so much of a failure Jonah Wizard really was.

' _No son of mine is a failure.'_

He firmly shut his eyes close at the memory, drawing out a shaky breath. There was only one way to chase them away.

He _needed_ noise.

He needed _music_.

"Dad." He stared determinedly through the air in front of him, refocusing his resolve. His gaze was so sharp it could have cut through steel—yes, _yes_ , he was going to do this, because it was the only way to keep his sanity intact, it was the only way to keep his heart beating, it was the only way to keep him alive, it was the _only way_. "I'm ready to rock the house tonight. And there's no stopping me."

"But this is your _third_ concert— _today!_ " Broderick finally snapped. "And you're doing it all for _free!_ You've been to Tokyo this morning, then Moscow after lunch, and, now, Paris. You need to—"

"Rest?" he finished for him. The music celebrity's kind, considerate, and thankful eyes probed into his father's apprehended ones, hoping to calm him down. He appreciated his concern. But he can't let anything stop him.

' _You're famous, rich, loved by the world. What a wonderful life, don't you say?' Her words were dripping like a syrup of thick, flowing honey, but however sweet and sugar coated they were, they stung like a hundred bees stabbing at his heart with the pain of a thousand lances. 'You've had enough of a life. Start acting like a real Janus.'_

He looked away, hoping to hide the glistening that had risen to fog his vision with burning mist that reddened the edges of his eyes.

' _You've had enough of a life. Start acting like a real Janus.'_

"I can't rest, Dad."

"But you haven't slept a wink for _four days straight!_ " The fretful manager lost it. He threw his hands into the air, almost hurling away his valued BlackBerry—but he wasn't Jonah's manager right now, he was his _father_. Naturally so, he valued nothing more than he ever valued his own son, his dwindling health. "You _have_ to rest!"

"Pops…"

"Jonah, please, I'd rather be a beggar in the streets only if to see you sleep!"

"Dad, there's no need to wo—"

"You should stop forcing yourself when you _can't_!"

' _You can't.'_

Jonah stopped.

His eyes widened in horror as his mind slowly started to process what had just entered his ears. No. He said those exact same words that had been haunting him all this time like a nightmare that persisted to dwell onto the back of his mind. He couldn't have. _He couldn't have…_

"N-no, Jonah…" The father recoiled when he realized what he had just said, and struggled to splutter his next words out of his lips. "I-I didn't…I d-didn't mean it that way—"

But his words were unheard as Jonah felt his heart stop, the blood in his veins freezing like the cold of the Arctic, all warmth now disappearing into the void of nothingness. He thought _he_ was the one person he could rely on. He thought his father was _nothing_ like _her_.

He was wrong.

 _She scoffs in mordant derision, almost like a sardonic little laugh. 'You can't.'_

He inhaled sharply to fill his shrunken lungs, and blew it out in a wavering breath. If his father didn't want to cooperate with him in this, _fine_.

He had millions of other fans. He could do it for _them_. For once, he wouldn't pour his energy into a cauldron that would only throw it out into a dirty canal, spitting it out, a wasted effort. For once, he wouldn't do it for her, from whom he constantly sought for appreciation, whom he always tried to please, but always failed at doing so. All _she_ ever did was fling his efforts away like a used tissue paper into a wastebasket. For once, he would do it for them, _them_ , the people who actually _loved_ him.

They…they loved him.

Right?

He shook his head. Yes, he told himself firmly. _Yes_ , they _do_. He had to keep telling himself that, because… They. Do. Of _course_ they love him—he had no doubt of it. They _have_ to. Their love that was the only thing that mattered to him right now; they were the very core and essence of his life. They were the only threads left of his shredded existence, and, no matter what it took him, he would gather them all with a dogged tenacity to sew another picture even if it always, _always_ ended up with him getting in a tangled mess of a knotted ball of yarn, work after work, media after media, concert after concert.

But he had to try again.

And again.

And _again_.

He was going to retune the confused melody of his past life and _sing again_ , no matter how many times it took him to try and fix his mistakes. And the biggest mistake he had ever made was working so hard for a mother who didn't even care to acknowledge the rolling beads of sweat that trickled down his face with a blood stained trail of exhaustion whenever he was spotlighted onto the stage.

' _You failed me.' She looked at his horrified eyes, not caring about how the piquancy of her words brutally kicked her son in the chest. 'And no son of mine is a failure.'_

 **(*)**

His gold-ringed fingers tightened around his microphone, clutching it like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He drew out a breath.

 _For them_.

"I'm cancelling this," said his dad, determinedly, fingers posed to type onto his trusty BlackBerry anytime. "I'm making you rest, you understand? I'm going to cancel this, and you are—wait. Jonah, no, _wait!_ "

But the music had already started, and he stepped out into the stage where he took in the breathless sight of a thousand people standing up to give him their deafening yet harmonious applause, ringing out melodiously into his ears. As he took his steps slowly onto the stage, they more loudly cheered onto his name with tears on their eyes, love in their voices, and passion burning in them that sparked his own. People shouted from here and there, cameras flashed, banners flew, and different coloured glow-stick lights dotted the blur of his own cheering nation. It was something to behold that never failed to take his breath away no matter how many times he had lived to be the centre of this picture.

" _Mom!" he said as he ran to her with music sheets full in h is little hands. "I composed a song for—"_

" _Not now, Jonah, please."_

He sang the song with all the emotions he could pour into it, making sure to coat his lyrics with a voice of melodious harmony that carried through the air and excited all his listening fans. He cried a message that he desperately wanted to get through to them across as vibrations in the heated air of massive bodies and deafening noise that amalgamated into his own, crowd and musician singing with one united voice. He felt a tear roll down his cheek as he closed his eyes and voiced out the unheard music of the very core of his soul, wishing, hoping, that they knew what he was trying to tell them.

" _Mom, I finally know how to play the piano." The child's eyes glistened with an inner plea that he was too afraid to voice, but too desperate to give up. "I thought maybe you…wanna hear it?"_

" _Maybe later."_

He was thanked them all for being there. He was grateful that they were there when no one else wasn't. They had ears ready to listen and sing along, very unlike his own flesh and blood who was only there for him whenever his fame was needed, and disposed of him when convenience calls. But why did he want the love and appreciation of one family member when he already had it from millions of admirers? He _didn't_. Maybe he did, once upon a time, but not now. The existence of a heart inside Cora Wizard's chest is already impossible—what more of a shred of love? All the love that she ever had had already been burned by the ultimate power that the 39 Clues had promised her.

" _But Mooom!" he whined, on the dangerous verge of throwing a tantrum. "The recital's tomorrow! All the other moms are coming and—and—" He gulped, struggling with his words. "Aren't you?"_

He sang out to them, pleading to them to cheer louder, to sing _louder_ , to give him that love he had so wanted to ever since he gained a child's consciousness. He weaved into his words the tune screaming from inside his heart, the lyrics flowing out of his mouth tinged by the whiff of the melodic elements of his soul's very being.

" _Oh, Mo~om," he said aloud in an overplayed sing-song voice. He walked up to her office with his hands placed behind him, as if he was hiding something very special that he had earned just for her. "I have a surprise for you!"_

 _Click, click, click. Click. Click, click. She continued typing onto her laptop, not even bothering to pay him a look. "Mm."_

 _The boy heaved a nervous breath, then let it out, telling himself to go for it. Then his face lighted up once again with a slightly forced enthusiasm, but of sheer bravery, when he walked up to her and finally revealed what he had been hiding—a golden trophy._

" _Ta-daa!" he said, proudly shoving it to her to cover her view from her laptop screen to him. "My first Granny trophy! I'm the youngest one to receive one. Aren't you proud of me?"_

 _Cora gave him a sideways glance. "How precious." Then she gently pushed the trophy away with one dainty finger, as if even disgusted of the golden surface, then returned to her work. "Would you hand me my pen, over there?"_

The music penetrated into him, and he closed his eyes to let his heart open up and let it control his voice. It was the one instrument that he was most thankful of to be blessed at having, for it was a gift that led him out to the door of freedom where he could escape those nightmarish realities that kept on chasing him even if he was awake. Because whenever he closed his eyes to relish the resonance of the notes and melodies that melted to combine with him, to melt _within_ him, _he_ was the one who chased those nightmares scampering away, into a void of nothingness that he made sure to lock deep into the darkest recesses of his mind.

 _Coward._

 _Coward._

 _Coward._

 _You are a disappointment to me._

 _Not…_

 _My—_

— _son._

He sang, louder, louder, _louder_ , drowning out all the other voices that threatened to rise and wanted to destroy him. He buried them, trampled on them, making sure to fill up his ears, the ambiance of his soul, with nothing else but the elements of music. Nothing existed in this world, except for his music and their love. They loved him, so he will sing for _them_.

Again.

And again.

And _again_ , louder and louder, even if his throat started to hurt, even if his whole body plead him to rest, until he had no ounce of voice left in him to sing, he _will_ sing, if only to make himself believe a lie that he would never have the heart to deny.

 _They love him._

 _Yes, they_ love _him—_

— _they love him._

Repeat a lie enough and it becomes the truth.

" _We love you, Jonah Wizard!"_

They love him.

Even if he had no voice left, they'll love him.

…right?

* * *

 **Phew. Done. Here it is. It may not be a masterpiece, but it** is **a piece of my own heart.**

 **I've always wanted to write a fanfic on which I could express my love for music, and out of all the music-loving characters I've ever met from the different fandoms of my life, I found the deepest connection with Jonah Wizard. I've been reading some fics centred on our favourite Janus lately, and I learned about how underrated he is in our fandom—therefore igniting my inspiration to write about him. And, besides, our fandom** _ **needs**_ **it. (Because the T39C fandom is practically bursting at the seams from Amian fics. I'm guilty for writing a few, myself. xD)**

 **So…did anyone like it? Also, did anyone even play that song? xD (Seriously, I deeply thank you if you listened to that song, it's my soul. xD) If you hated this one-shot, you HAVE to tell me why so I can improve. A flame would be nice. It's rainy here and I need some warmth. x) Some parts of this story I intentionally repeated again and again, because, as you can see, I titled this story** Resound **. Echo!** _…echo, echooo…_ **Ha-ha. Corny. I hope my writing isn't getting rusty and that you loved the song just as much as I do. I hated rock music before because it's so loud, but, now, I just love it. I thank Jun Maeda for introducing the real meaning of rock music to me, which had been misunderstood by many people, including myself. Jun Maeda is my inspiration and the reason I lovelove** _ **love**_ **angsty rock music and angst in general. You guys should watch his animes,** Angel Beats! **is a personal recommendation. Gah I should get paid for this…**

 **PS: I am aware that** My Dearest, Guilty Crown **is performed by a girl, and that its lyrics have nothing to do with this fic. xD But the melody and the emotions that the singer had…*releases a fanciful sigh* They are** _ **perfect**_ **. The pop genre is alright, which, I am aware, is Jonah's actual genre, but I feel stronger emotions playing out from a singer singing rock music. Whoops, long A/N. Why do I always write long A/Ns? Sigh. I better cut the rambling out.** Don't forget to drop by in my profile! **I have a new poll. ;)**

 **Until she writes again,  
Rival Argentica ^.^**


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